


The Monster Never Said

by BlueEyedArcher



Series: Monster Under The Bed [2]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Spirits, Geoffrey is annoyed with his charge's bullshit, Jonathan has questions, M/M, No vampires, he did not ask for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24416026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: Jonathan devises a clever plan to trick the specter that's been haunting him to show itself. He has many questions to ask but in his search for the truth, receives an unannounced visitor that sheds more on this forbidden world that he had anticipated.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum & Jonathan Reid, Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Series: Monster Under The Bed [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1760143
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	The Monster Never Said

"I've lost touch with the real." Jonathan spoke with shaky words, his palms covered his face as he bit out the brittle panic. His breath caught in his throat, a quake of fear trembled through his shoulders and rocked him to his core. He combed his fingers through his hair in quick motions, causing it to stir and disrupt the neatly styled locks in their usual prim and proper placement. His manic pacing came to a stand still as he perched on the edge of his bed and rocked in subtle motions back and forth. His eyes welled up with tears as he sniffled and shook his head.

"It's a nightmare. All of this is- I just need to wake up. I just need to..." his voice trailed as his gaze fell on the revolver he took from Booth. He reached out for the gun and took it in hand, measuring the weight against his palm. With experienced fingers, he adjusted the gun and checked the ammunition. A single bullet was all he needed.

Jonathan stifled a sharp breath and laid back on the bed, his eyes slipped shut as he breathed steadily trying to calm his racing heart. Every gasping breath was smoothed over. The ache in his lungs was an afterthought as he stilled his frantic pulse. He blinked the tears from his eyes as he spoke carefully, his words cold and concise. "Rational thinking only."

It was a cold weight against his chest as he pressed the barrel of the gun over his heart. The thundering of every pulse echoed in his ears, a rush that silenced all other sounds around him. He took a deep breath as he placed his finger over the trigger. The cool metal bit into his skin, an alarming warning against what he was about to do. He refused to heed it, determined to see his decision through. For better or worse.

"Time to wake up now." He reasoned, drawing the hammer back then started to squeeze the trigger.

A rush of cold air enveloped him in a sudden wave as a heavier weight pressed against him, sinking the mattress around his body. The cool leather of gloved fingers gripped his hand tightly as the revolver clicked with an empty sound. Jonathan opened his eyes and stared up at the crimson shroud, thinner now, less like cotton and more like linen. He could almost see the shadowy impressions of the mysterious man's face as it hovered over him. His wings were stretched in a hectic mimicry of flight. The man's hand overlapped the gun, fingers curling to pry it from Jonathan's grasp.

"I knew it would work." Jonathan breathed a heavy sigh of relief, as he relaxed against the bed. The specter's head tilted in silent confusion as the chamber was opened to show there was no bullet inside. Jonathan was never in any real danger. He put on a good act that rivaled the great Doris Fletcher herself if he did say so himself. His lips curled into a devilish smile as he continued.

"I have questions and I want answers. No more hiding." Jonathan demanded sharply. He relinquished his hold on the gun, allowing the specter to take it and examine the item with what he could only assume was disgust before it was dropped over the edge of the bed like a discarded toy. The heavy thump was painfully loud in the stark quiet of the room. The doctor moved to sit up, tucking his elbows against the mattress when he noticed the specter had him caged against the bedding. Its legs straddled his hips as its wings angled to shield them in their own little private bubble. The feathers glistened in tantalizing displays of blue shadows when the light from the balcony danced across them. Jonathan wanted to reach out and feel them, to know if they were in fact as soft as they appeared.

Broad shoulders stretched in cords of hidden muscle, tense and flexed as it shifted like a great beast stalking vulnerable prey. He leaned closer, cutting the distance between them until Jonathan's nose nearly brushed the shroud. There was only silence as the creature dared the doctor to speak his mind. Jonathan wasn't sure if he had upset it with his dramatic display but he was very much disturbed by the implications that its presence caused him. He seriously believed he was losing his mind and descending into a quiet madness.

"Alright then. I guess for starters, can you speak?" The doctor was curious about a great many things but his following line of questions would have to be tailored to the mysterious man before him. If his communication was limited, he would have to work around it.

The creature tilted its head in contemplation before shaking it in a slow jerky side to side motion.

"Very well then. This complicates things." Jonathan sighed. His jaw set as he considered how exactly to go about this. It would be a lot easier with pen and paper, but the specter didn't look inclined to let him up anytime soon. It was strange, Jonathan noted, how it felt so cold and yet so warm at the same time. The pressure against his chest was a growing heat that spread throughout his own torso, blossoming in delighted bursts of excitement. As if the nerves were wired with an underlying energy just buzzing beneath the surface like a nest of bees. Yet a cool aura rolled off of the specter's wings like shadows pooling from an endless abyss in the earth. An ethereal form that defied logic and reason.

"Are you able to read and write?" Jonathan asked after a moment. Did a creature such as this know basic literary skills? It obviously understood English but in a sense, so did a dog when it spent enough time near its owners.

Jonathan watched as the specter appeared to contemplate its answer. The shifting tension, the small dip of its head. The way the shadows coiled beneath the veil in a puppet show of movement. He could faintly make out the outline of sharper features. The stark lines of bone structure against the fabric only spurred the horrifying imagery in the doctor's mind that what lay behind it was the polished bone of a human skull. Every time he encountered the specter, the red shroud thinned, a phenomenon that hadn't gone overlooked by the doctor but that unsettling fear mingled with a childish eagerness to find out what horrors lie beneath. Even if it fuels nightmares of their own origin. He supposed he was one to poke the proverbial bear despite prior acknowledgment that it was prone to mauling pests.

Finally, it gave a proper nod. It was a slow movement, a quiet rustle of motion as the shroud pooled over its shoulders. Jonathan wondered idly if it could be removed but his thought was dismissed quickly as his other plan set into motion. "If you don't mind?" The doctor gestured at their crowded position on his bed. The specter recoiled in surprise then slowly extricated itself from the bed to stand up. It stared at Jonathan with that unseeing gaze, head tilted in what he could only assume was scrutiny as the specter retrieved the previously discarded revolver and set it on the nightstand. The strong line of its nose crinkled in what Jonathan could only describe as a grimace of disgust. As he moved to sit up, he was shot with a pointed look.

"Don't worry. I have no intention of taking my own life." He raised his hands in a placating gesture. The specter's gaze followed him around the room as he approached his work desk and scrounged for a spare piece of parchment. A pen was the harder find, as he opened drawer after drawer and shuffled through with a frustrated sigh. The footsteps of the specter approached and gripped his shoulder, drawing him away from the desk. Jonathan conceded and watched as the specter opened a previous drawer all the way to the back and plucked the wayward pen from the pile of discarded documents and stationary items. Jonathan huffed in mild annoyance that he had missed that.

He gratefully accepted the item and settled down in his seat. His pen was poised to begin writing when a thought occurred to him. "Don't go anywhere." Jonathan spoke sternly. This time the specter held its hands up in surrender. "This will only take a few minutes."

He proceeded to jot down several questions with a generous amount of spacing between each for answers. Each was carefully written in legible lettering and pristine script. It was considerably more recognizable than the hastily scrawled signatures and chicken scratch notes he kept at the hospital. The questions he wrote down were as follows.

  
  


  * _What are you? A spirit? An angel? A demon?_



  * _Where do you come from?_


  * How do you know when I need your help?


  * You can touch me and other objects, but can you also touch other people?


  * Did you intend to hurt Mr. Digby in the alley?



  
  


Seemingly satisfied and considering that a good start for now with the most pressing inquiries out on the paper, he slid it across his desk with the pen. It was a silent command for the specter to take it and answer each as best as it could. It picked up the paper with a dismissive nod, shaking its head as it read each question. It dropped the paper back onto the desk and shooed Jonathan out of his seat. The doctor obliged and watched as the specter adjusted the tail of his coat as he settled in to get comfortable. Jonathan had half a mind to offer it a cup of tea at this point but he wasn't aware if the creature consumed any type of sustenance at all. He tucked that thought away for later, an intriguing idea now that he pondered it more. He wondered what it's anatomy was like underneath the layers of clothing. Was it more beast or human?

His pondering thoughts were interrupted by the sound of knocking on the front door. It was loud enough for the pair to glance up. The specter cocked its head in a quizzical fashion. "Stay here. I'll go see who it is."

It wasn't like anyone else could see the specter though Jonathan often forgot that little detail. He crept down the steps and peered through the glass panelling where a familiar slender frame caught his attention. It wasn't uncommon for his oldest and dearest friend, Clarence to show up on the doctor's doorstep. He greeted Jonathan with that easy going smile that was so agonizingly familiar. Jonathan missed it during the war, to see a friendly face from his past. To look into the eyes of someone he knew and loved. He dreaded the days, expecting to find Clarence among the men brought into triage or crying out for loved ones with blood welling up from desperate clawing fingertips.

When he returned and heard the news that his good friend had not only survived the war, but returned back in one piece, he couldn’t have been more relieved. Their reunion was a tearful one as they hugged and stayed up all evening chatting eagerly about everything under the sun, catching up with each other like the old days and reminiscing about their troublesome youths rife with mischief and so much blissful ignorance. 

He welcomed inside, one hand resting on Clarence’s shoulder as Jonathan glanced towards the stairwell. Part of him had half a mind to dismiss his friend with a quiet apology and some half formed excuse, but the grateful expression on his face melted Jonathan’s soft heart and he truly couldn’t turn him away. He reminded himself that nobody else could see the mysterious specter.

“What brings you here, Clarence?” Jonathan inquired as he led the pair up the steps to the second floor. The doctor peered through the open doorway to his bedroom to find the desk seat was currently empty. Clarence’s footsteps held close behind in easy pace with Jonathan, the normally anxious man swept the corners as he often did with a critical eye before joining his friend in his bedroom. Jonathan paused by the desk to inspect the abandoned parchment and pen. Semi-neat handwriting scratched out ink stained answers across the page, accompanied by a couple smears that Jonathan assumed were caused by the specter’s gloves. His handwriting was far cleaner than Jonathan expected but far from the ideal script. It was short and concise, with easy to read bolded letters, similar to something he’d expect from a farm hand or a craftsman. Someone who worked with their hands regularly.

Jonathan’s was similar though a background in an artistic household and upbringing added a little more flourish to his lines. More curves and tails than the average man would add to their writing. He supposed that came from his mother and all her lessons doting over him and Mary, teaching poetry and music from her extensive repertoire. The broad strokes of a painter were indulged in her poetic verses.

“I was just in the area. Thought I’d stop by to check in on you old chap.” Clarence hummed. He peered over Jonathan’s shoulder as the man inspected the paper. The doctor barely had an opportunity to read it’s contents when Clarence spied the first question. “Jonny, is that…?” His voice trailed as he reached out to take the document from his hand in an impulsive gesture.

A lie sprung quickly to his lips, a well baited idea that had been broached numerous times by the curiosity of his own mother when he was hunkered over his work desk for so many days, filling out journal entries or sketching images with his limited knowledge at the time. However, it all came crashing to a complete halt when Clarence whirled on him with wide hopeful eyes.

“You see them too?” He held the paper out to Jonathan as he began to stutter, his tongue twisted up into incomprehensible syllables, a habit from his youth that sometimes reared its head when his friend was far too emotional and excited for his own good. “Th-the invisible beings. The ones that no one else can see!” He gestured frantically. “Th-they follow you around and show up to help. Like uh- like guardian angels.”

“Wait, Clarence?” Jonathan held his hands up to pause his friend’s rambling. He gripped him by his shoulders and held him firmly in place, their eyes locked. Clarence’s tired and desperate expression met Jonathan’s steely speculative gaze. The pale blue colliding with the softer shades of grey, flecked with little sparks of hazel that added depth to their seemingly endless pools. “You’ve seen these…. _phantoms_?” The last word came out bared hard through his teeth as he searched for the appropriate term to best describe them. Demons he would use to describe the beings that had attacked him on that first night. What saved him was more akin to a twisted up variation of the heavenly angels his mother had once admired in chaotic and cleverly conceived paintings.

Clarence shook his head with a violent bobbing motion that made Jonathan greatly concerned that he may obtain whiplash. He slowly backed them towards his bed so they could sit and talk, releasing his grip on Clarence's shoulder, he moved his hand to the middle of his upper back and kept it there even after they settled on the mattress. The bed frame groaned in protest, aged and worn from many years of abuse. Jonathan angled himself to face Clarence more completely.

It took a few minutes for Jonathan to find the right words. His eyes lowered towards the paper in his friend's grasp before he managed to retrieve it from his fingers where it crumpled up the parchment. He smoothed it over in a subtle motion before setting it on his pillow and sighed. "So, you've witnessed these specters? What they can do?" Jonathan was still hesitant to speak on the topic, terrified by how insane it made him sound but Clarence was a trusted and beloved friend. He was paranoid and a bit anxious around the edges but Jonathan found no man more loyal and honest than Clarence.

"I have, Jonny. During the war that is." He added quickly. A gentle squeeze to his shoulder was a silent pressure, reminding him to slow down, take a deep breath and think over his words carefully. Clarence inhaled slowly and let it out as he shifted nervously by his friend's side. Jonathan shared the sentiment and could sympathize with this newfound anxiety that permeated the air. They both were approaching a seemingly taboo topic with only each other to rely on for support. It was horribly tragic and yet so ironic.

"I had seen some things that I couldn't describe during the war." Clarence started. "Things that couldn't be explained. I thought it was just all in my head. There was a lot happening at the time. I was just tired or-or the days when the hunger was gnawing away at me. Everything was so confusing."

Jonathan could empathize with that. Now that he thought on it, there were similar instances where strange occurrences had happened that he couldn't explain. Just like Clarence, he brushed it off as weariness, stress or hunger. Rations were short, supplies were being lost or cut off by the enemy, food and ammunition was becoming harder and harder to obtain. He had his fair share of days working with nothing in his stomach, not a wink of sleep and standing on his feet until his boots wore through the soles and his feet blistered and bled. And that was before the bitter cold winters set in.

"I asked some men in my group if they had any similar experiences. All of them looked wide eyed and nodded. Some had seen the visage of specters come to their aid." Clarence went on to explain. One man swore his dead brother had pulled him out of the way of a bayonet charge. Another said he saw a man in a heavy cloak walking through the trenches. He shouted at him to get down moments before an unseen artillery shell collapsed the tunnel. Had he been still standing, he would have died. Some had seen, felt, or heard things that couldn't be explained. Some men called it the spirits of their loved ones watching over them. Others said their patron saints or guardian angels were on their side. Some thought it was the spirits of dead soldiers who had made the same mistakes, now trying to guide them through this hell.

"What does yours look like?" Jonathan asked after a moment. He was incredibly curious, if Clarence had seen his own specter face to face.

Clarence went quiet as he rubbed his palms nervously over the top of his pant legs. "Like a young man, a soldier in a uniform a bit too big on him. He has red hair that is short and curly. A bit too slight, like he hasn't eaten in a long time." He shook his head. "He has a cloth tied around his eyes but he can always see me. He smiles sometimes." Clarence tilted his head and met Jonathan's eyes as he described him. "But it's always sad. Like he's burdened with so much guilt."

Aside from the hair color, the young man described sounded just like a younger Clarence, before the war. Far too skinny and anxious for his own well being. Anxious and sad. Maybe, he realized, something dawned on him. "Have you ever considered that these specters are a reflection of us? Of who we are on the inside?" It sounded preposterous when he spoke it aloud but it was too late to withdraw his statement so instead he surged on.

He grabbed the paper and held it up to Clarence as he spoke. "Maybe we can ask them about it. Find out more!" He was excited as dozens of questions raced across his mind. He wanted answers, he wanted to understand. To know what makes these creatures what they are. After all, he was a scientist and finding proof and fact was what he lived for.

"That's fine and all, Jonny but how do you expect to get them to answer us?" Clarence lamented. "I've tried to talk to mine but he never shows himself."

"What are you saying Clarence? I've done exactly that. Don't you see?" Jonathan held the paper in front of him, pleading to his friend. Clarence stared at it for a moment, brows furrowed in puzzlement as he glanced back up to the doctor. 

"All I see is five questions, Jonny."

That didn't make sense. Jonathan straightened up, disbelief shadowing his face as he stared down at the page. He could see it, the carefully scrawled words in thick ink strokes. The shorthand answers that fulfilled his curiosity. "There is more on the page, Clarence. My specter, this _entity_ that's been haunting me. I managed to persuade him to write down the answers. It's all on this page." He stood up, looking down at his friend with shock. 

"You can't see it." It wasn't necessarily directed towards Clarence but his friend nodded all the same. "Wait- that….that actually makes sense then. We can't see each other's specters, it goes against their nature so you can't see what mine has interacted with…" It would only make sense. They can't leave impressions on this world as far as Jonathan could tell. Nothing lasting he supposed. Nothing that could give them away to the collective populace. How many people have stood in their shoes, wielding proof of the impossible only to be dismissed as insane or afflicted with madness?

"I need more proof." He mumbled to himself. "There's so much I wish to understand."

"Me too, Jonny. Me too." Clarence chimed in agreement.

  
  
  


They talked extensively after that, Jonathan and Clarence swapped stories, talking about their strange experiences during the war. The more they spoke, the more Jonathan realized he had so many unknown encounters that he had ignored. But now, it all clicked into place like a growing puzzle, allowing him a much clearer picture of the hidden image it completed. The shifting shadows that would wake him, the quiet touches that drew his attention when it was most necessary, tools and equipment going missing and reappearing during moments he needed them most. The silhouette of a man that had stood in his tent and consoled him with an apologetic gesture. Jonathan mistook them for a colleague but the next day, when he thanked that colleague, they looked at him confused. He dismissed it as dreams or stress overwhelming his tired mind. The touch of hands that steadied his own shaking fingers when he was performing an important procedure. The warmer air that thawed them during the winter or the tender brush of fingers against his cheek. Everything was so uniquely intimate, the more he thought of it. More like a caregiver or a lover than some demonic entity from another world.

Eventually they made their way down to the parlor and settled in with a cup of tea. They continued their discussion until it started to grow late and Clarence realized the time as dusk began its steady approach. 

"I better get back home to Venus. She won't be happy with me if I'm late for supper." Clarence chirped, rising from the comfort of the sofa he'd been lounged on. Jonathan followed suit as he stretched his legs and back in a long lazy line, accompanied by a groan.

"Send her my regards." He offered as they shuffled through the door and Jonathan gave a farewell accompanied by a nearly crushing hug.

"Will do, Jonny. You take care now."

"You too, Clarence. Stay out of trouble." He reminded, earning a heart warming smile in return from his oldest friend. Jonathan stood by the door and watched him go until he was a little ways down the street. He hadn't realized he was smiling to himself until he was halfway through cleaning up the mess from their tea and heading back into the kitchen to wash the dishes. He hummed a soft song quietly to himself as he worked, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he shifted from the dishes to making a quick and easy meal for himself. He had forgotten his appetite during Clarence's visit and realized rather quickly, that it may have been overlooked in the last few days. It felt strange to eat regularly and the constant state of satisfaction was even making him drowsy in the off hours when his mind had no more tasks to obsess over.

He had forgotten about the paper, still upstairs on his nightstand until he started to turn in for the evening. With a full belly, a contented mind and sleep creeping across his face in drooping lids and stiff muscles, he shucked off his formal attire and slipped into something more comfortable for the night. He was just buttoning up his night shirt when the paper caught his eye. A quiet scan over the answers renewed his curiosity as he finally got a chance to soak in the importance of each answer.

  * _What are you? A spirit? An angel? A demon?_



The closest approximation of what I am would be your kind's take on spirits. We don't have a word for ourselves.

  * _Where do you come from?_



Another world far removed from this one. We enter through gateways unseen to your eyes.

  * _How do you know when I need your help?_



I am always by your side Jonathan. I never leave. You just can't see me.

  * _You can touch me and other objects, but can you also touch other people?_



Its against the rules to touch another's charge.

  * _Did you intend to hurt Mr. Digby in the alley?_



I cannot hurt another individual. It is not allowed. I can only divert their attention and distract them. So the answer is no.

  
  
  
  
  


To say it was a relief would be an understatement, knowing that this specter had no intent to cause harm. He wondered then, what he had intended to do in that alley. The thought had ceased its pondering when another small addition caught his eye. He swore it wasn't there before when Clarence had been with him. Turning the page over to inspect the dark shadow stains on the back, was a simple note. 

_You're not crazy Jonathan. Brilliant and a bit unusual, but you have never been crazy._

It was the same shorthand writing as the answers, a subtle tell as to who had written the message. Glancing back towards his desk, he noticed the pen had been moved from its previous spot, now on the opposite side of the desk than it was earlier. Jonathan couldn't quite place why that put a smile on his face, but it spread like a contagion nonetheless. 

**Author's Note:**

> Clarence's specter is my Priwen OC Mary McKinley. Some of you may have recognized his description of him.


End file.
